Sofa, So Good
by MizJoely
Summary: For the "50 Reasons to have (Sherlolly) sex" prompt fill. 34. Your roomate is out of town and you can do it on the couch


**Sofa, So Good**

 **34\. Your roomate is out of town and you can do it on the couch**

 _This is an AU set somewhere after The Great Game but before the Christmas party in A Scandal in Belgravia, purely so that John can still be Sherlock's flatmate. So obviously it's an AU. Also I really tried to make this a PWP but it turned into a bit more than that. Sigh. One of these days I'll get it right!_

Molly read the text over twice, a furrow between her brows. _John's in Brighton visiting his sister. Need you urgently, come at once. SH_

It wasn't the most cryptic text she'd ever received from Sherlock – _that_ award went to the one from six months ago that had read simply 'Mashed potatoes' and still remained unexplained by him – but it wasn't the most enlightening either. _Need you urgently._ Needed her urgently for what? Where? His flat (where she'd never been), St. Barts (ugh, it was her day off), NSY? Out at a crime scene?

Ooh, that would be interesting; she'd never actually been to a crime scene, and if John wasn't available maybe he needed someone to help on a case! A thrill went up her spine at the thought, even knowing how dangerous it could be. Followed immediately by the voice of her common sense scolding her about what a bad decision it would be to get herself more than peripherally involved with Sherlock's cases. Even at that much of a remove she'd still somehow found herself (unknowingly) dating the man who would later turn out to be a murderous psychopath and self-proclaimed arch enemy of Sherlock Holmes.

But then, hadn't she dated – and dumped! – said arch enemy and lived to tell about it? The same arch enemy who'd tried to blow up John and Sherlock less than a month ago? The same arch enemy, she recalled with no small sense of satisfaction, who'd sat next to her on her ratty old sofa on their second date, petting her cat Toby and watching Glee?

She'd dated Jim Moriarty and made him do things she now suspected he must have absolutely loathed. Surely there weren't too many people who could brag about having done _that_ and survived unscathed. In comparison, helping Sherlock on what she assumed would be a more normal case would be a piece of cake.

With a decisive nod, she responded to Sherlock's text with a single word.

 _Where?_

 **oOo**

An hour later found her on the front steps of 221B Baker Street, about to ring the doorbell when suddenly she heard her name being called from up above her. Looking up automatically, she shaded her eyes and saw Sherlock leaning nonchalantly out over the sill. "Catch!" he called, and she reached out as ordered when he tossed something small toward her.

It was a set of keys, one of which she presumed opened the front door. After a few tries she found the right one, turned the lock and entered, looking around curiously as she pulled the door shut behind her. She knew his landlady Mrs. Hudson lived on the premises; he'd nattered on about how annoyingly motherly she could be almost as often as he'd complained about John's girlfriends or his brother's obsession with cake or his parent's frequent trips to America for country line dancing events. He even complained about Lestrade (whose first name Sherlock never seemed to remember), either because he wasn't giving him cases, or the cases were boring, or the case was over and he needed new cases...

Hmm, come to think of it, Sherlock tended to complain about a _lot_ of people when he was holed up in the lab with her, especially when he was bored and between cases. On those days he also tended to wheedle body parts out of her (well, not hers of course, she thought with a blush as she began to mount the stairs from the ground floor). But if that was why she was here today – if he'd texted her to join him for some sort of an experiment – he must already have the parts he needed since he hadn't told her to bring anything.

She'd double-checked, just to be sure, but when she'd asked _What do you need?_ all he'd replied was _You_. Which made her girly parts tingle even if her common sense told her he probably just needed an extra pair of hands for some experiment or other.

Or, y'know, to just give him his phone, if John's blog was to be taken literally.

"Stop dawdling on the landing, Molly, you can see the door's open."

She jumped a bit at the sound of Sherlock's irritated voice, then realized she had, indeed, been hesitating at the top of the stairs in front of a partially opened door. "Um, sorry, yeah, here I come," she called out as she pushed the door further open and stepped into the room.

She didn't see him at first, too busy gawking at her first proper look at his flat, with its bold Victorian patterned wallpaper, the skull on his mantel, the mismatched furnishings and other odd bits and bobs. Then she turned and saw him sprawled out on the sofa, about as informally dressed as a human being could be, the exact opposite of how she'd ever seen him before, and could do nothing but stare.

He was wearing a silky royal blue dressing-gown over a grey t-shirt and a pair of ratty green tartan lounging trousers. His feet were bare (and a bit bony) and his hair was mussed. He was texting away busily on his mobile (so no, no mobile-fetching as a potential reason for her presence), but looked up to meet her gaze, a brilliant smile on his lips as he simultaneously tossed the mobile onto the low table sat in front of the sofa and hopped up to his feet. "Ah, Molly, good. Very good."

"Wh-what's good?" she squeaked out, backing up in alarm as he advanced toward her, a rather determined look in his eyes. "Why am I here? Is it a case?"

He frowned. "Do I look like I'm dressed for a case?" he demanded, gesturing toward his pyjama-clad self.

Wordlessly she shook her head 'no' as she continued to back up, at least until suddenly stopped by the door against her back. "Then w-why am I here?" She knew what she wanted the answer to be, especially when he loomed over her, deliberately invading her personal space, one hand resting on the wall above her head – but she wasn't going to assume anything. Not where Sherlock was concerned.

"How do you feel about sex?"

She blinked. Rapidly. Several times. Possibly she also made a bit of a moany noise as she sucked in a surprised breath. Whatever. There was certainly no questioning why he'd asked her here now…or was there? "Um, theoretically? In general? Or is there, uh, a specific reason you want to know my opinion on that particular subject?"

She was really rather proud of herself for being so utterly un-babbly, all things considered.

"Specific reason," he answered, no hesitation and definitely upping the smoulder as he lowered his head to look directly into her eyes. Eyes she was certain were far more black than brown at the moment. Just as his were far more black than…oh. Right. So this was definitely a booty call. Something she never in her wildest, raunchiest fantasies would have been able to imagine getting from Sherlock Holmes.

"Why?" she asked when his lips were scant centimeters from hers. Because if this was just boredom or an experiment…well, she wasn't going to say no, lord knew she'd fancied him for far too long, but she just needed to know beforehand what she was getting into.

"John's out of town," he replied, then frowned as she shoved a hand against his chest and moved him back a few inches.

"Look, Sherlock, I'm OK if this is just you being bored or having an itch to scratch, but I'm not having sex with you just because your boyfriend isn't available!"

He stared at her, then broke into a laugh as if she'd made a joke instead of angrily turned him down. "Wish John could hear you say that, he absolutely blows a gasket when people think we're a couple!" He laughed again and shook his head. "Which, for the record, we're not. Not now, not ever. John's probably the most stereotypically heterosexual male I've ever met. I honestly think his picture is in the dictionary under the word 'straight'." Like the flick of a switch, his sudden burst of humour vanished, the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight as he moved closer and gently pressed the tips of his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. "And besides," he added, punctuating each world with a soft kiss, "John. Is. Not. My. Type

"Then what difference does it make if he's not here?" Molly asked, honestly bewildered. Not to mention a bit dizzy from the soft, sensuous kisses. His lips really were as delicious as they looked.

"Sofa," Sherlock said, leaning down again and brushing his lips against her ear. She shivered. "Never done it on a sofa, Molly. Fancy a go?"

She couldn't help cutting her eyes sideways to take a look at the piece of furniture in question. Long enough for Sherlock to stretch out on, as she'd seen him when she first arrived; brown leather with three back pillows and two side pillows and a few throws he'd been resting his head on; three bottom pillows making up the seat that looked like they were anchored rather than loose...completely doable.

As was the man still gazing expectantly at her. Smirking at her. Probably knew exactly what was going through her mind right now, the git. "One-off I assume," she said as she looked back up at him, making her voice as business-like as she could considering the subject matter. God, she was negotiating with Sherlock about sex. Like it was no big deal when her heart was galloping and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe and he was crowded into her personal space looking good enough to eat...

"Only if you want it to be," he replied, sounding not at all business-like. Or disinterested. "Consider it a standing request." He chortled again, a sound she could used to. "Or rather, a _lying_ request, at least this time round." Certain of her capitulation now – as if there was ever any doubt once he'd reassured her about John! – he took her hand in his and began tugging her toward the sofa.

"And it's just sex," she said, still seeking to clarify even as she allowed him to bring her away from the door. "I get that, don't worry, I promise I won't get all clingy and demanding and expectationy..."

He silenced what was about to become a truly epic confused babble by swooping in for a kiss. Not just a soft little peck like the previous kisses, but a full-on, holding-her-tight-to-his-body, pressing-his-tongue-against-her-lips-till-she-opened-for-him kiss. A proper snog by anyone's standards, and probably the best she'd ever had. If she could just unscramble her brain cells enough to remember any previous kisses she'd received in her life, she'd be better able to judge.

"'Just sex' is a relative term," he said when the kiss ended. His grin was positively feral as he added, "Let's just see how this goes, shall we? I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly big on trying to predict the future when it comes to my personal life."

She didn't even try to respond to that enigmatic statement with anything but another hungry kiss. Whether he meant he might be interested in future no-strings sexual encounters or something more, now wasn't the time to worry about it. _Live in the moment, Molly,_ she counseled herself as her tongue slid against his and her fingers threaded themselves into his gorgeous curls.

At some point during that second kiss clothing removal started, although Molly didn't really notice it until she felt his hands nimbly undoing the buttons to her blouse. When had he taken off her cardigan, when had she lost her shoes? The latter she nearly tripped over till he impatiently kicked them aside, and the former she finally located on the coffee table. Which was much closer than it had been at the start of the kiss, which meant they'd also moved across the room without her noticing.

He still had on most of his clothes, although the dressing-gown now hung from his elbows and his t-shirt was pushed up his chest and over the back of his neck like a tight-fitting shrug. Which meant they'd stopped kissing at some point, even if she couldn't remember that, either. Clearly she was lacking both oxygen and a proper blood-flow to the head.

However, the places where the blood was rushing were nice and warm and in one particular case, damp and getting damper by the second. And when she ran her hands down Sherlock's long, lean abdomen, she found a nicely thick erection straining at his sleep-trousers and spent some time appreciating its contours with her fingers while her lips once again sought his.

She was fully aware of everything now, no more lost time as Sherlock tugged impatiently at her remaining clothes, until she was completely naked and his hands were touching her everywhere they could reach. She reluctantly released his erection in order to tug his trousers down, but the sight of his cock springing free from the confines of the trapping fabric more than made up for it. He was as big and thick and lovely as he felt, and her mouth positively watered at the sight of it. Sherlock Holmes with a boner…and all for her.

She was the one to move them over to the sofa, pushing him back and practically falling on top of him as he landed with a grunt. She giggled and shifted her knees (neither had landed anywhere _dangerous_ , thank goodness) to either side of his thighs. "Sitting up or lying down?" she asked as she leaned down to nibble at his earlobes. They were both equally sensitive, she noted. Just in case she had the opportunity to nibble on them again at some future date.

"Sitting up," he decided after a moment spent in complete silence, presumably while he ran over the possibilities in his mind. Or maybe he was calculating positions to obtain the maximum pleasure? She wouldn't put it past him, and quite looked forward to the results of those calculations. He shrugged out of his dressing-gown and raised his arms when Molly leaned forward to tug his shirt up off over his head.

Once the hem had cleared his lips he darted forward, fastening his mouth to one nipple and sucking with an enthusiasm that quickly had Molly gasping with pleasure. She left her hands on his shoulders as he moved his attentions to the other breast, his hands coming down to rest on her hips as he bucked up against her center.

She moaned, eyes fluttering shut, groping hands reaching for his face and smooshing him closer to her bosom. He responded with even more enthusiasm, soon nipping and tugging at her nipples with his teeth. Not hard enough to hurt, but with just enough pressure to wring a series of gasps and moans from her lips. She ground down against him, desperate for relief and wondering how he'd react if she asked him to touch her pussy.

"I take it back," he said breathily, pulling away in order to stare up at her with a hungry expression.

"Take what back?" Molly asked, suddenly nervous. But his hands were moving up her body and kneading her breasts and his cock was still iron-bar-hard, so clearly he didn't mean he'd changed his mind about the sex.

"Your lips," he replied, moving his gaze to her mouth. "Lipstick makes them look bigger, yes, but they're definitely not too small without it. But now that I have a basis for comparison, I have to say I prefer them kiss-swollen."

He surged up to capture her mouth in yet another kiss, his hands roaming her back and shoulders until finally landing on her buttocks. She hummed her appreciation as he began squeezing and rubbing her gluteus maximus, letting loose a low cry when his fingers slipped between her legs and rubbed softly against her sex.

"Condom?" she gasped out, aching to feel him inside her.

He grunted something that sounded suspiciously like 'ugh do we have to' but Molly wasn't going to compromise anyone's health – certainly not her own! – just to go bareback. Not for first-time, possibly one-off, sex.

Not even with Sherlock.

"Yes," was all she said.

He removed both hands from her body with another sound, this one perilously close to a whine. He even tried giving her the full puppy-dog eyes, but Molly stood – or rather, half-knelt – firm. She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. Waiting.

His capitulation was immediate; with a lazy grin he dug one hand under the sofa cushion to his left, pulling out a square foil-wrapped packet and twirling it between his fingers. "Worth a try," he said with an unrepentant grin.

"Not until we've exchange medical histories," she retorted, but without much heat. Especially once he handed her the condom, putting control completely in her hands.

"You're clean, I'm clean, and next time I'll have the paperwork to prove it," he reassured her. There was something about his expression, there and gone so quickly that Molly had a hard time reading it – was it tenderness? Whatever it was, there was no questioning the sincerity of his words; she'd seen him faking it enough to know when he wasn't.

With that in mind, she didn't hesitate to roll the condom onto his heated length, enjoying the way he squirmed and grunted at the pressure of her fingers against his skin. She let them linger a bit, stroking him through the thin layer of latex until he gave an impatient huff and pulled her up by her elbows so that she was raised above him. She wrinkled her nose and grinned down at him, but when he let go and took himself in hand, clearly impatient for her to slide onto him, all the teasing came to an end. She settled her hands on his shoulders, took a deep breath, and sank back down, more than wet enough to impale herself on his shaft in one quick move.

Oh, it was fantastic, exactly what she'd always imagined it would be, feeling Sherlock settled so deep inside her. She was barely aware of having leaned her head down so that their foreheads rested together, or the way her fingers were digging into his shoulders as she raised herself up and plunged down yet again. She did, however, notice his hands on her body, the lovely, lovely sounds he was making as he rutted up into her, and the heady scent of him – the crisp splash of aftershave, the subtle hint of tobacco, the slight whiff of coconut from his hair…all of it quickly overpowered by the primal musk of their joint arousal, until all she could smell was their sweat and their sex, and all she could do was hold on and enjoy the ride.

 **oOo**

This, Sherlock decided in the delirium of finally being sheathed inside Molly's sweet pussy, was the most brilliant idea he'd ever had, ever. And it wasn't just the sex talking; oh no, he'd been wanting this for far too long for him to ever try to dismiss it as just a heat-of-the-moment reaction. John would be utterly shocked to see his friend like this, naked and being expertly ridden by Molly Hooper, her lovely breasts bouncing and her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes nearly rolling back in her head with pleasure. But in fairness to John, Sherlock had told him that girlfriends – and relationships in general – weren't his area.

That was then. Now, however, they were _definitely_ his area. He'd been a bit disingenuous when he'd suggested that he had no idea where this assignation would take them. Molly might assume this was just the beginning of a 'friends with benefits' relationship, but he knew very well what he'd been getting into when he texted her. The decision to give up his decade-long, self-imposed celibacy wasn't one he'd entered into lightly, and it damn well wasn't going to be one he'd easily discard. He'd have to be sure and tell her all that, of course; he had a bad habit of thinking he'd told people things only to discover to his chagrin that the conversations he'd supposedly held had been all in his mind palace.

Well, not this time.

"Molly," he growled, digging his fingertips into her hips with a bit more force as she writhed atop him. Her unrestrained enjoyment was making it very difficult for him to concentrate; at some point one of them had pulled her hair free from its confining elastic and the soft brown strands were very distracting as they hung over her shoulders and brushed against both her breasts and his chest whenever she leaned forward to kiss him.

Like she was doing right now, interrupting and distracting him. He almost told her to stop, but a small voice in the back of his (sounding very much like a panicky John Watson) was yelling at him to just kiss her back, so he did. Not that he minded kissing her in the least; kissing Molly was something he'd spent a lot of time thinking about ever since he'd met her, and the empirical experience far outshone his most wild imaginings…er, his untested observations.

Observations no more, and certainly not untested! "Molly," he tried again as she moved her mouth to the side of his neck and began kissing and nipping at a sensitive point right below his ear. "Molly," he groaned out her name this time, his hands reaching up to cover her breasts. "Before we go any further…"

She giggled and pulled back to offer him an incredulous stare, her body stilling on his. "Um, Sherlock, I think we've already gone just about as far as we can go without actually, uh, finishing."

"I know," he agreed, wishing she hadn't stopped riding him, but pleased that she was listening to him at the same time. Parts of his body were very unhappy with him, but he had to get the words out before they actually _did_ finish. "I just wanted to say…that I'd very much like to continue doing this sort of thing after tonight. If you do. Exclusively, you and me, and I suppose the occasional social outing wouldn't be too difficult to…"

"Sherlock Holmes," she interrupted him with a wide-eyed stare, "are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

He scowled at her. "Don't be ridiculous, it's a juvenile term. We'd be engaged in a romantic and sexual relationship, not holding hands and gossiping about other couples. And no double-dating with John and whatever female companion he gets himself involved with," he added crossly. "He'll be hard enough to live with as it is, once he finds out that we're…"

"OH MY GOD!"

"...having sex," Sherlock finished with a great deal of disgruntlement.

"OH MY GOD WHAT THE EVER-LOVING FUCK IS GOING ON?"

"Sex, John, I'm sure you're familiar with it," Sherlock snapped as he whipped his dressing-gown over Molly's body. She'd buried her head in his shoulder and was clutching him rather tightly, her body shaking with what was surely utter mortification; he was certain he could feel the dampness of tears on his shoulder. He glared at his flat-mate. "Aren't you supposed to be out of town for the weekend?"

"Harry cancelled," John managed to reply. His eyes were about as wide as Sherlock had ever seen them, as he stood frozen in place near the door, one hand still clutching the knob in what looked like a death-grip.

"Then may I suggest you find somewhere else to be for at least the next half-hour?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow and glancing down at Molly's head. "Molly and I have some unfinished business to conclude."

"Bloody. Fucking. Hell." The words were clearly capitalized and clearly shocked and Sherlock had zero interest in hearing whatever other idiocies John might come up with. He jerked his head at Molly and widened his own eyes and grimace in a 'get OUT' gesture, and John finally got the hint and left. Slamming the door rather hard behind him. Sherlock was certain he was still mumbling to himself.

Although John's ill-timed interruption hadn't entirely killed Sherlock's erection, he was resigning himself to Molly's swift and humiliated leave-taking and preparing to let her pull herself off of him when she finally raised her head.

She was red-faced, teary-eyed, and...laughing?

"Oh my God, poor John, I think we broke him!" she gasped out, leaning her head down again and shaking it. She made no move to remove her body from his, which he found not only pleasing but intriguing as well. Certainly his cock approve! She sat up again and gave her hips a little wiggle. "Good to know your, um, concentration isn't very hard to break, though! Are you, uh, sure you aren't interested in him, you know, _that_ way?"

He stared at her, utterly flummoxed; Molly was _teasing_ him? About his possible interest in having sex with someone else while she was naked and curvy and warm and...with the hair and the big brown eyes? Not to mention her very wet little pussy still wrapped around his cock?

"Not in the least bit interested," he growled, pulling her closer, kissing her hard, and then flipping them around so that she was lying on her back. "Not in him, anyway. I am, however, very interested in giving you at least one orgasm this evening, so if you don't mind, shall we get back to what we were doing?"

He punctuated every second word with a little thrust of his hips, sending delicious shocks of pleasure through his cock, which had indeed rallied back to full strength. Judging by the soft little squeaks and grunts Molly made in response, she was enjoying it just as much as he was.

Merely enjoying it, however, wasn't the goal; having her be utterly consumed by pleasure, now _that_ was the outcome he'd had in mind ever since he'd sent her the original text.

 _John's in Brighton visiting his sister. Need you urgently, come at once._

He increased the pace of his movements, lifting her leg by sliding his hand under her thigh, his other hand clutching hers where it rested on the arm of the sofa above her head. Her eyes were open but glazed, her mouth parted as she panted out a series of breathy mewls, and her body was moving with ever-increasing urgency against his.

"Come at once," he breathed into her ear, "if convenient. If inconvenient…" He sucked hard at her pulse-point and slid his hand from the back of her thigh to the front, slipping it down between their sweat-slicked bodies until his thumb rested directly on her clit. "…come anyway."

It was, he wasn't ashamed to admit, a rather corny line, but somehow it worked; Molly's eyes squeezed tightly shut, her body spasmed around his cock and she came hard. Hard enough to bring him right along with her, his head thrown back and vision whiting out while they gave voice to their shared completion.

If John had merely gone upstairs to his own bedroom, chances were he'd heard their mingled shouts through the floorboards, Sherlock thought with a smirk as his ability to think returned.

Maybe next time he cancelled a trip to his sister's, he'd remember to send a text before coming home!


End file.
